The Heart of a Prince
by Fesd5
Summary: Drifa of Vanaheim was the Offering: a life-form or object given to Asgard every five years to renew the peace treaty between the two realms. Alone and without loved ones, Drifa was the perfect candidate to be given over to the most powerful realm. When she arrives, however, she meets a man who may well save her as much as she may save him. Loki/OC.


The Offering

The air drew painfully into her lungs as she stood before her queen, primped in a cherry red dress that was accented with gold at the ruler's request. Compared to the queen in her forest green dress and elegant hair style, the young girl felt under dressed and ugly. Her golden brown hair had been left in its natural straightness, allowed to hang limply down her back, and her injured blue eyes stared out from under untended charcoal black eyelashes. The ceiling vaulted over the young lady's head, embellished with artwork that depicted animals grazing, running or playing, coloured with admirable and magnificent shades. Each white wall was concealed by towering bookcases stocked with wagons full of leather bound books, containing information about magic and knowledge about the world within its pages. The tiled floor was just as wonderfully colourful as the ceiling, a mosaic of a statuesque white deer with branching antlers, feathered golden hooves, glossy white fur, a silky nose and unimaginably blue eyes. As queen of Vanaheim, the woman before the young Vanir was expected to have extensive knowledge of magic but no one supposed that the throne room, as well as the library, would be stocked so abundantly with books also.

"Are you quite alright, dear Drifa?" the queen inquired, her voice ripe with authority as she turned on heel, her far-reaching forest green dress dancing around her feet and trailing after her obediently as she mounted the few steps to the two, august thrones that stood proudly on the dais. Relaxed in the taller, more grand throne was the king of Vanaheim, a mop of aged white hair tangled around his face and warm, trusting brown eyes staring out from his wrinkled face. He, like most in the realm, was unquestioning and in turn, no one questioned him, meaning the land was peaceful and prosperous.

Lowering her head, Drifa took several moments to decide whether or not to confide in the queen, although she knew that it would be best if she kept her worries to herself. After what felt like an age, Drifa lifted her head once more, shaking her hair and brushing away the creases in her dress with her clammy palms. She hated her perfectly straight hair that stubbornly refused to curl; she hated her plump thighs that were just another reminder that all of her baby fat was not yet gone; she hated her eyes that were a gentle light blue around the pupil and became a stronger, more dark blue around the edge of the iris before the colour gave way to the sclera; she hated her wide hips that meant she could barely fit into tighter dresses. In other words, Drifa hated every feature of her ugly body but she knew that, although the monarchy were patient and kind, they would not be over-the-moons about her spilling everything she disliked about herself to them, making them feel as if it were their duty to comfort her. Instead, she set her jaw and shook her head stiffly in reply, waiting to be dismissed so as to spend her last hour in Vanaheim alone.

"Well, if you have no worries, you may return to your current quarters where some servants will help you into a new dress," the queen declared with as much warmth as the suns that graced the sky each day on flawless blue.

Drifa refused to show her reluctance at not being able to look around Vanaheim for a last time and instead lowered herself into a precise curtsy before rising and hurrying from the enormous room, vanishing around corners and down corridors until she reached the grand mahogany door which led into her quarters. Before she closed her sweaty hand around the golden handle of the door, the young Vanir took a moment to run her eyes over the extravagant carvings adorning the door. Her finger traced the line of the familiar engraving of the legendary white deer, however in this picture instead of the deer standing with his proud head high, the white prince was rearing up, tossing his head as animals gathered obediently around him, waiting for his orders. Rabbits, squirrels and foxes crouched around the magnificent animal, creatures of kindness and caring, no Bilge snipes or Frost Giants cursed the etching with their presence, nor angry wolves and bears. This was enough to make Drifa smile, imagining a world where no evil existed; only good.

"Miss, are you going to enter?" a cautious voice called out from behind, making the girl spin on her heel, shocked to find that a woman in an apron and servant's dress had been watching her. Under the woman's arm was a basket woven of reeds and within it were several folds of fabric.

Nodding without saying anything, the young girl spun around once more to face the door and forced herself to turn the handle and step over the threshold to enter her rooms. A gargantuan bed laden with clean white sheets, plump feather pillows and a weighty red quilt dominated a large section of the room, heavy red curtains hanging from the bed's canopy and ready to be closed as to block out any light. Sitting at the foot of the bed was a wooden chest, adorned with polished gold hinges and enchanting swirls painted onto the wood in glossy black. Posted beside the door against the wall was a impressive wooden dressing table with an ovular mirror, several small drawers containing different beauty enhancing products as well as a short, comfortable stool tucked under the desk. Beside the bed on one side was a prodigious wardrobe with carvings of soaring trees and flowers that, in the physical world, gave off winsome aromas.

Standing in a row in front of the door leading to Drifa's private privy room, each holding a handsomely dressed box in their hands, were six servants. Simultaneously, the servants smiled in greeting and took a measured step forward, holding out their boxes towards the young Vanir who had entered the room with a senior maid following her closely. Each was clad in red-brown dresses and muddied white aprons, their faces etched with exhaustion and worry.

"We have brought you gifts, Miss, as the queen requested," a single servant declared, a welcoming smile gracing her lips. "Perfumes, jewelry and clothing, all fit for a princess."

Bowing her head in thanks, Drifa indicated for the workers to bring the boxes forward which they did. In turn, they lifted the lids from the packages to reveal gorgeous and alluring items such as a finely pressed dress, necklaces embellished with jewels, a perfume contained within a glass flask which was tinted purple, and expensive looking pumps. Not a moment later, the servants were undoing the laces to the young Vanir's dress and lifting it off over her head, replacing it with a long, appealing violet gown that trailed after her and had wrist-length sleeves. After they had done up the laces as tightly as possible to bring out her figure, the servants began to clasp a long golden chain around her neck, laden in heavy opals perfectly smooth and ovular encased in gold. Finally, they sprayed her with the perfume that had the same scent as roses and strawberry before they slipped the pumps onto Drifa's delicate feet.

"You look wonderful, Miss," one of the servants declared softly. All of a sudden, the small clock on the young Vanir's bedside table chiming to alert them the hour had passed shocked them from their daze. "Go on, Miss, you need to go to see the Queen now."

With a bob of her head in acceptance, Drifa turned and followed the senior maid out of the large bedroom, heading down the corridors to the colossal throne room once more. The queen was now sitting at a vast mahogany table which had been dragged into the throne room for the royal couple to dine in celebration at the renewal of the Vanaheim peace treaty with Asgard. They did the same thing every five years on the day when they sent an offering to show their gratitude at how calm and peaceful Asgard had become. That offering was Drifa.

"Milady Queen," the young Vanir murmured, dipping a weak curtsy.

"You look beautiful, Drifa," the queen smiled widely, showing a full set of pearly white teeth. The king was grinning with pride but at that moment hesitation glittered in his eyes, as if he were rethinking sending an innocent citizen to be at the mercy of Asgard. "What do you think, Prince Thor?"

Drifa spun around, meeting a set of charming blue eyes in horror. The eyes were paired with a perfectly sculpted face and added to that was a mane of glowing golden hair as well as bulging biceps and other muscles; his magic hammer hung casually at his side as if it couldn't cause mass destruction with a flick of his wrist. He grinned widely as they locked eyes and then he bowed in a well-practiced flourish that was like a dance, while his leather and metal armour flexed comfortably around his figure, clinking slightly. In an instant, the young Vanir felt herself trembling. Why was he wearing armour? Did he expect war? Was not the Offering meant to renew peace, not break it?

"She is quite beautiful," Thor agreed handsomely, before frowning slightly which hardly deflowered his good looks. "Are you certain you wish to lose such a magnificent flower?"

A quiet plush tinted the Vanir's cheeks - the only natural beauty she possessed - at the comment as she stared into a pair of shocking blue eyes, her golden brown hair up in an agonizingly tight ponytail that revealed her face much more, allowing at least a little of her more enchanting features to be put on display. All of a sudden, the tightness of the dress made her feel self-conscious and so turned her attention away from the prince, instead concentrating on her queen who was gazing upon her Offering with caring. The queen had somehow managed to swiftly change from her alluring forest green dress to a majestic gown of white embroidered with gold, including a wonderful snowy train that trailed obediently after her as she rose from her cushioned chair and advanced calmly on the young girl.

"Every being on Vanaheim is a flower, my dear Thor," the queen commented, placing a hand on Drifa's head. Instinctively, the young Vanir bowed her head in respect and felt an oddly comfortable feeling of warm water spilling over her hair. After a long, stretched-out moment the ruler of Vanaheim removed her cool hand from the head of light brown hair, turning to face the prince of Asgard face-on, her violet eyes unflinching as she locked eyes with the blonde young man. "She is simply a flower who must be plucked to be a gift."

Bowing as smoothly as he had before, Thor smiled widely at the queen and then waved his arm for Drifa to leave before him. She curtsied hurriedly before striding through the door and leading the way out of the castle. The heavy thumping of the prince's feet hitting the ground accompanied her as she wove through the corridors with extensive knowledge, deliberately avoiding all of her favourite places like the palace library, the royal gallery and her chambers. Following her instincts was easy, and so the Vanir allowed her thoughts to wander as she slipped into a slightly more cramped hallway that brought them to a door which she opened to reveal a cavernous antechamber. Without thinking about it, Drifa strode towards a pair of enormous golden doors that stood open and daunting, revealing the appealing emerald countryside of Vanaheim.

What would she be used for? Would she be a handmaiden or a servant?

As Thor slowed behind her to stare around in awe at the beauty of the realm, Drifa jogged down the crystal steps leading to a path which would bring her to the village. Grass danced charmingly in the wind and the sun clapped in admiration but the girl who was the Offering ignored them.

Where would she stay? Would she have similar chambers to those in the queen's palace?

"Wait, girl!" Thor's voice was so angelic and enchanting that she froze and craned her head to look over her shoulder. The prince was pounding towards her, his armour clanking in annoyance and his hair ruffled from the wind. "We can leave from here."

Nodding in acceptance, she stepped to Thor's side but flinched in surprise when he wrapped an arm around her waist and thrust Mjolnir into the air like a spear. Lightning pierced the sky, closely followed by a burst of light containing all seven colours of the rainbow. It locked around them, blinding the Vanir temporarily as she stared around in shock at the colours that danced around her, knowing that anyone outside of the rainbow would be blinded by pure white light and to see the colours they would have to look up. Thor shouted something over the thundering noise but she didn't catch it because she was too busy clutching to the prince as, all of a sudden, they shot up into the air as if they had been booted off the ground by a gargantuan foot.

The ride was over in a few moments and Drifa wobbled dizzily, righting herself by clinging to the wall beside her. Just then, the wall moved and with blurred eyes and her mouth clamped shut to avoid losing her breakfast, the girl met a pair of blue eyes. Thor? She shoved herself away from him, her face turning an ungodly colour similar to that of a ripe tomato, something that always happened when she was extremely embarrassed.

They were standing in a golden dome, the rainbow colours of Bifrost still visible through a hole in the curved wall which had an approximate diameter of seven feet. In the centre of the area, standing on a stout cylinder, was a man with skin the colour of dark chocolate with his large hands clasped around the hilt of a broad silver and gold sword. His amber eyes gazed at Drifa with unmatched knowledge, his orbs holding hers as powerfully as a set of strong hands. After a long moment, his pink lips lifted in a minute smile before he bowed his head in respect as if she were the queen or Vanaheim herself.

"Greetings, Drifa of Vanaheim," he rumbled. "Yours and Prince Thor's horses await you outside."

In return, Drifa curtsied before following Thor from the dome onto a solidified road of bright colours, similar to Bifrost, on which stood two majestic horses, one black and one white. Thor swept her up by the waist and set her in the saddle of the black stallion, apologizing about the fact that she would not be able to ride side-saddle as the black stallion despised the contraptions.

"That is Loki's old horse," Thor commented, grief glinting in his eyes as if the prince had died - which he had not, he had simply fallen to the Chitauri who had given him an army and sent him to Midgard. "He is gentle and easy to ride, much better than my old boy." He patted the white steed's neck, grinning proudly as the stallion swung out his head and gave out an almighty neigh whilst scraping the road with one of his beautiful hooves. "My horse's name is Heidrun, which means-"

"Which means 'bright' or 'clear'," Drifa interrupted, leaning forward to stroke the midnight black stallion's neck. "And what is Loki's previous horse called?"

Used to speaking up when the queen was not present, the young girl didn't hesitate when speaking out to the prince, especially when she was grooming the horse's neck with her fingers. If she had been looking up, she would have noticed the look of respect mingled with caution in the prince's eyes as he stared upon the only person who had ever dared to speak up who wasn't of his family. A memory filled his mind, and Drifa saw it in his eyes, but she didn't interrupt as she lifted the reins and turned the horse around to face the palace on the other side of the bridge.

"Loki's horse?" Thor grunted, shaking his head to relieve himself of his thoughts. A light, heart felt smile graced his lips. "He's called Thor. After me."

He didn't say anymore, and Drifa didn't question as they spurred their horses into action, urging them into a full gallop as they directed the stallion and mare towards the palace.


End file.
